To Jupiter
by blinkblink
Summary: Jack once asked me what I thought my job was. My answer: Did you ever seen 2001: A Space Odyssey? Halcentric, short and reflective.


Disclaimer: Don't own MGS/2 or the characters.

Notes: A lot of this is based on conversations which I imagine a lot of players don't really bother with. Otacon's save conversations in MGS2, and the long 2nd ending of MGS1, wherein Meryl dies and Snake escapes with Otacon. It spawned the Jupiter joke, as I'm sure anyone who watched it couldn't help but remember (possibly the most simultaneously amusing and painful conversation of the game.) I will also freely admit to a little Jack-bashing, nothing serious. We bash because we love. Hey, he's an awesome guy, just not always the brightest crayon in the box.

Anyway, this was written as just a quick sort of drabble on Hal's thoughts surrounding 2001: A Space Odyssey. I think it would be interesting to write a sort of series of these "journal entries" if you will, although god knows what they would be about. Well, we'll see. Timeline wise, this is set in the run-up to MGS4, when things are already not looking great for Snake, age/health-wise. Enjoy.

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Jack asked me, once, what I actually thought of my job as being. Well, I don't think he actually said job, I think he actually wandered stuttering obliquely around the point for a while, and really he could have meant purpose in life, but I'll summarize for him. It's the same thing in my case, anyway. This came up during what I think of as Jack's existential crisis stage, three weeks of deep contemplation which may in the long run have been helpful to him, but which were twenty-one days of deep and prolonged suffering to anyone else in the vicinity. This was after the destruction of the Big Shell, when he camped out on our floor for these same three weeks, hiding out from the Patriots, Revolver Ocelot, Olga's troops, the Presidential Administration and pretty much life in general. Rosemary might also have been a factor.

"Did you," I said by way of reply, "ever see 2001: A Space Odyssey?"

Jack paused, wheels turning almost visibly for a moment, before his eyes narrowed, indicating a thought had arrived. "You're comparing yourself to a giant computer which slowly goes crazy and murders everyone?" He paused fractionally, and then, "Who does that remind me of?"

I rolled my eyes, but was spared having to answer by Dave's shouting for Jack. This conversation took place during one of Dave's "make work" projects, which increased exponentially over the course of Jack's visit. The current one then was, I believe, an effort to construct an intruder-detection system from the contents of the bathroom sink cupboard, a television remote control, and my bed-side table. Electrocution posed a definite threat.

I can't say I was ever a huge fan of the movie. 2001, that is. When your father is cruel enough to name you Hal, you've heard more than enough about it by the time you turn fifteen, if not earlier. After discovering Dave's name there were several years of the two of us, mostly Dave for whom the novelty had not worn off, making bad jokes about it- trips to Jupiter came up frequently. But I had started thinking about it fairly frequently around that time. A little pointless speculation, to take my mind off our other numerous problems, which we had then been experiencing far more than our fair share. I've come to realise, and mostly accept, that our lives will never even out into nice straight roads like you imagine you will up until about the point where your first real job turns out to be making a nuclear-armed robot, and that in fact as time goes on in fact the potholes seem only to be getting sharper and deeper. Lately Dave- but that's not what I was talking about. 2001. And my role in life. Right.

Well, an Odyssey doesn't do a bad job of describing my and Dave's lives so far. We've survived shipwreck, battled a cyclops, and escaped from beautiful would-be lovers. Although in my case I had little choice in the matter, and as for Dave, I'm not entirely sure which party could be said to have done the escaping. He's my friend, so I'll stick by him. Of course, if this really were an Odyssey, he would have to be Odysseus and that would be a bad look-out for me, since I'm pretty sure his friends didn't have happy endings. Paris probably got them, too.

I'm wandering again. I didn't mean to talk about Dave, since I'm sure I've done that more than enough already. He tells me I worry too much, which I do about everything, really, but when he tells me so he usually means about him. I don't think, with all the threats on his life, several self-imposed, that ten of me could possibly worry enough. But I'll try not to, for now. Tomorrow's another day.

I've almost forgotten what I meant to be talking about. The sudden image of Jack soaked in Windex brings it back to me, along with some lingering vague regrets that the bleach was kept in the other bathroom. My role in life, re: 2001: A Space Odyssey.

You might think that I meant to suggest that my role was HAL's, as it should have been before he/it entered the free padded room getaway with complimentary complicated white jackets contest. Or, possibly, that I was going to try to hone in on Dave's gig. Or, even, if you have something of Jack's sparkling wit about you, that I was actually comparing myself directly to HAL. None of these things are in fact what I meant. I have the bad habit of frequently synthesizing two or more ideas to create a new one which isn't recognizable by its components and whose introduction into a conversation previously about those components usually results in what Dave likes to call conversational suicide- if he's feeling particularly humorous he makes the little throat-slitting motion, occasionally even with sound-effects, although these moments have been fewer recently.

By now I imagine that you are ready to tear this page up from sheer frustration. I would sympathize with you, except that I know you, whoever you are, will never actually read it, since I will burn it when I am done. That's the problem with someone like me keeping a diary: it's far too incriminating to ever be allowed to exist. Writing entries and then burning them might seem like a gross waste of paper and money- not even my own, but the U.N.'s along with whoever I pick as charity of the day to donate by the quick and easy means of money siphoning- but it makes me feel better. More resolved. Or maybe just more organized. Neither is probably true. When I'm working on a project, or at the computer, I feel like my mind is as clear and ordered as one of my laptops, which are pretty damn clear and ordered, you can believe. But as soon as I get up and revert from Hal the engineer, or Otacon, to Hal the guy who irritates his neighbours with loud foreign music at 2 am and occasionally forgets to pay the bills on time, I become completely scatterbrained. You can probably tell. Except of course that you can't.

What is: a lesson to be learned, and yes I will. The question, if you were wondering, was: so what is the goddamn importance of 2001: A Space Odyssey, to this conversation, if you ever plan to get to it? I like the cursing. I think it demonstrates my close association to your feelings, reader. But the lesson. I will explain to you my thought process. Well, minus the random neural firings which make up any person's thought process, and which are perhaps more prominent in my own. It went like this:

It would, of course, be great and simple if I could associate myself with HAL the computer. But I can't, obviously, because it went crazy and killed everyone except Dave, and that wasn't for lack of effort. I can't be Dave, either, since Dave is already Dave, and the world does not need another Dave. He's been adamant on that front. And there's no point to try and get clever and be a minor character, since no one ever remembers them anyway, and I'M sure as hell not going to, since I don't even really like the damn movie. Neither am I going to be clever and annoying and say something stupid like "oh, I'll be a _blend_ of HAL and Dave, a brilliant flawless yet moralistic and brave person" because first off I'm not, and second the one thing the world needs even less than a second Dave is some sort of freakish blend of the two of us. Can you imagine? He would wear glasses and smoke, and either be entirely too clever and dexterous for his own good, or completely flatfooted and electronically incompetent.

By this time, I was beginning to confuse myself. So, back to the basics. HAL. I would like to note, in an aside, that my father used to claim I was not actually named after the HAL of 2001. I'm not sure I ever believed him then, or that I do now, but it's too late to find out. Another pothole.

When I'm at work, at least, I'm not unlike HAL. Brilliant, flawless, totally computer savvy. What's that, laying it on too thick? Well, maybe. But you get the idea. I'm a techie, and a damn good one. I haven't met anything I couldn't hack into yet, and I've also yet to be caught out, or tracked down. I like to think that I've worked hard to become everything Dave might need in a support person, even up to and including learning to fly several versions of helicopters and small planes, which was time consuming and cost me a not insignificant amount in motion-sickness medication. I am then, you could say, HAL as it was at the beginning of the movie, the perfect tool. That was before everything went wrong and he figured he was better than everyone and why not just kill them off and get them out of the way. This is the lesson.

Don't go crazy, you ask. That's the lesson? Well, yes, partially. I mean, obviously, don't go crazy is important. But don't get proud, don't get bold, don't figure that you really are the best and you can do the job better than anyone else, better than your partner. This has a name, and is somehow linked to many Shakespearian plays. Mei Ling had a saying about it once, but I forgot it.

I figure this is a pretty evident lesson, and in any case how could I ever think I could possibly do anything better than Dave- other than operate a computer, PDF, cell phone, MP3 player, walkman, boom box, television remote, digital watch, etc. You get the picture. On the other hand, when in the same room as me Dave could easily kill me in at least fifty ways, many of which would take significantly less than two seconds. This is not a skill to be poo-poo'd, I think you will agree.

I will, in short, be the best at everything Dave needs me to be- and not go crazy- in order not to kill him, but to keep him alive. That is my job, assuming you factor in the idea that Dave will be taking down Metal Gears, and that is my purpose in life. If Jack found a similar one, I don't know. He went away after Dave tried to get him to test his last project, a portable fire escape built of kitchen materials- this becomes more understandable when I tell you that we were at that time living in a 14th floor apartment. He also didn't follow up on his first question to me, which sparked this entire rambling thought chain. Jack, like me, can be absent-minded at times.

Dave does not have this problem, his mind is quick as a whip, and can cut as deep when needed, just like the rest of him. Sometimes, I wish he didn't need to, that he could find another job for himself, even if it meant I had to find a new one for myself, even if it meant-God forbid- I had to become Jack's back-up. Another thing Dave has never had a problem with is resolution. Once he begins something, he will always finish it. And besides, he tells me when I nag him about it, this is what he's always done, and he says it's what he'll always do. Although these days, I find myself beginning to wonder how long a road always is. No matter how long it turns out to be, I'll continue on as long as he does, even if I have to follow him as far as Jupiter.

I can only hope I do.


End file.
